Yes, Damn It
by Sherlockfan12
Summary: Sherlock would never say something sentimental outright, but could he be sending John riddles with double ententres? Slash, Johnlock fluff


**Author's Note:** _This is my first Sherlock/John fanfiction. The characters of course belong to Moffat and Gatiss and BBC. This is one of the many ways I could see them finally admitting they really are in love with each-other. I imagine Sherlock would be all understated and try to avoid any out-right mushyness and all that, but John wouldn't let him get away with it :D_

_-Obligatory Disclaimer -_

_These characters belong to the BBC show writers Moffat and Gatiss. This is just fanfiction, no profits made, blah blah blah. And my apologies for any fangirlish butcherings which have no doubt occurred herein._

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**Yes, Damn It**

Lately Sherlock had taken to sending John little quizzes and riddles and tests, apparently in an attempt to sharpen his mind. He was constantly pestering him with cryptic texts, many of which John refused to bother with anymore because his brain felt like mush from solving the last one. Still, he had to admit it was kind of fun. He found himself almost anticipating the next challenge, and growing a bit more competitive, trying to work it out faster each time to beat his own record. The fact that Sherlock would even ask him to try and match wits with him was almost like a compliment, although it usually turned out as an excuse to be impatient with him. He was getting better at it, although many times it seemed that Sherlock was irritated with him even when he got the right answer. He hadn't decided if there was really something else he was missing, of if Sherlock just couldn't stand to admit he'd gotten something right.

Some of the riddles had been really bazaar, others had seemed almost silly or sentimental and if he hadn't known Sherlock his mind might have put a completely different spin on the answers. His mind _had_ been providing him with far too many innuendos of late, and he was getting pretty annoyed with himself trying to ignore them and focus on finding the real answers. It was a good thing Sherlock couldn't actually read his mind, although sometimes he seemed eerily close to it. Then again, he probably would have just interpreted it all as nonsense and concluded John was completely daft. He felt like he agreed.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but a huge part of what pleased him about this game was the constant interchange of written banter between them, regardless of whether he was always the brunt of Sherlock's sneers. Although they shared living space they didn't really talk all that much at home as neither of them was given to chatter. So the riddles created a sense of camaraderie amidst the silence, giving John a sense of reassurance during times when Sherlock was being particularly taciturn. Many of the messages he actually saved because they were good reminders of their friendship and his own intellect in his moments of doubt.

John was just texting back an answer to some random mathematical question when he noticed the program had automatically turned his 3 into a little heart emoticon. Good thing he hadn't pressed send too quickly, Sherlock would consider that obnoxious fluff, and he went back to add a space in between. But then he stopped over it, and suddenly everything hit him. His mind started dragging up all the double meanings he'd pushed aside and ignored over the past months. Could_ he_ really have meant all that? Surely it was his own imagination. Sherlock wasn't like that. He probably didn't even realize. Yet the sheer ammount of memories it was possible to reinterpret was ridiculous. He didn't even want to think of all the things he'd completely missed because he actually wasn't smart enough. Was _this_ really what all that had been about? It seemed impossible. And yet. . . Sherlock was clever, a mastermind, so it wasn't implausible that he would be sending coded messages. He hated explaining things after all, and always expected people to just understand.

John was completely shaken. Could he really trust himself this time? He didn't want to think about what he _thought_ about what it all meant, although deep down he knew exactly how he felt. He glanced over at the tuft of Sherlock's hair that was visible over the back of his chair. He was slouching there with one long spidery leg draped over the arm, his head scrunched down in the crack between the back cushion and the opposite arm. Was he about to make a complete fool of himself? John strode over, but Sherlock appeared oblivious with his nose stuck in his book. Throwing caution to the wind he took out the space and pressed enter while standing over him (Sherlock's phone made a noise from under a pile on the desk). Then he held the phone in Sherlock's face to show him the reply with the little heart.

Sherlock just looked up at him. John stared down at him in a Sergeant-like manner. Sherlock glanced back down to his book. "Took you long enough." He commented.

"Is that it?" John said, indignant at Sherlock's indifference.

"Yes." He said flatly.

"That's all you're going to say?"

"Yes, it means what you think it means." There was a slight note of irritation in his voice.

"So. . .?"

"Yes!" He said again, exasperated.

"Sherlock. . ."

"Yes! I have feelings. Yes! I meant it all. Yes! I want you. Yes! You can have me. Yes! I love you. Yes to everything. John, I'm telling you _Yes_."

"Yes?"

He gave him a look from under his brow that said "Seriously?"

"Okay." John tore the book from his hands and tossed it on the floor climbing onto the chair to straddle Sherlock, cupping his face in both hands to raise his mouth to meet his own, and kissed him thoroughly. . . _Yes. Sherlock, I love you too. But then, you already knew that, didn't you._


End file.
